DESTINATION: INSERT
by Apply Water Directly to Burn
Summary: We've all seen what happens when a Self-Insert enters the story, or when Taylor gets a new power. But what happens when a background character triggers with a Tinker power that puts him in the sights of the major players? Oh, and the weird voice in his head that speaks in concepts wants him dead, so that's nice. Rated M for Worm. No SI, no metaknowledge. Not a fixfic.
1. INSERT: 1

_**A/N:**_

_**So… hello again.**_

_**It's been a little while, hasn't it? Sorry for that, things have been… hectic on my end. I haven't been completely dead, I've been working on rewriting The Darkness Inside in my free time (so far, one and a half chapters are done, the first of which has already been put up) and I've been doing some writing practice so that I can hopefully avoid some of the issues I had with the original version of this story.**_

_**On that note, welcome to the reboot of A Prime Time for Escalation! It's called DESTINATION: INSERT for now, mainly due to a lack of any better name at the moment. I took a good, hard look at the original, decided it almost wasn't terrible, and threw out most of my ideas. Despite the name, this story won't be a **_**true**_** Self-Insert, due to the main character not having any memories of his life before or the story itself. Instead, it's a Self-Insert only because I'm basing the character off of my own preferences and beliefs.**_

_**With all that said, though, let's get straight into the juicy bits… right after the disclaimer.**_

_**DISCLAIMER:**_

_**[OWNERSHIP?] [NEGATIVE]**_

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 8, 2011}**

**{WINSLOW HIGH SCHOOL}**

I heard Gladly – sorry, "Mr. G" – drone on with one ear, listening to music through the earbud in my other ear. The song was a one-hit-wonder imported from Earth Aleph, some electronic beat about party rocking or whatever. It didn't really matter, though. Honestly, the only thing that mattered to me was finding some kind of distraction to pour my attention into.

After all, I've always been the kind to ignore and put off any problems that I couldn't fix. And owing three months' worth of protection money to the Empire 88 was certainly a damn issue, especially when you're taking care of your little brother without any parental help. It hadn't been this bad at first; oh, sure, having to pay off a bunch of idiotic, tattooed skinheads every month or so was annoying as fuck, but at least I had help from my dad's life insurance.

Then, suddenly, said insurance stopped coming. Something about "not disclosing relevant personal information" when the policy was first purchased. Completely bullshit, but we had already been living from paycheck to paycheck so there was no way in hell I could've afforded a lawyer. Then I got fired from my job working for a local bookstore because apparently, I was "losing them customers" with my "terrible attitude". No shit I had a terrible attitude, my dad died a couple months ago and the only bit of financial help I was getting just got pulled.

Anyway, I had managed to convince the skinheads to delay the payment twice, playing the "fellow white man" card, but today was the day everything was due, no exceptions. Not like they did anything to deserve protection money, but you either paid or you wished you had. And I had nowhere near enough to pay them off, even after selling off my textbooks and some of my mother's remaining jewelry.

I sighed, turning off the music and resting my head on my desk. Maybe if I just fall asleep, everything will be alright when I wake up? If only, if only…

Footsteps walking by my desk caught my attention, and I tuned back to reality just in time to catch a girl pouring pencil shavings into the hair of another. I recognized the victim as the girl who got shoved into a locker earlier this year, Taylor, I think. Must've sucked, but at least she's mostly been spared the gang side of this school. Hell, I still remember the time I had to fight three ABB members at once in the locker room (one of the reasons I don't change in there anymore). They took exception to my noticeably white ass (or face, either one) and beat me into the dirt. Still missing a tooth from that one.

I was snapped out of my thoughts again when Gladly split us into groups to discuss something about parahumans or whatever. Honestly, parahumans were one of the biggest damn issues in this world. Bunch of lunatics in masks, lording their laser eyes or whatever over the rest of us. Yeah, pay the protection money or get a visit from the big rage dragon, or the blade wolf, or the Frankenstein tank monster thing. If one of them attacks, hunker down, pray, and hope the PRT isn't at a damn publicity meeting again. If they decide they don't like you very much, the police may or may not ever find your body.

And the damn game of cops and robbers they play is bullshit. Sure, it's hella nice if you're one of them, you get to go shoot plasma out of your ass at each other and go home when you're done, maybe spend a night in jail till your buddies break you out the next day. But if you're a normal, who cares if you get caught in the crossfire? Hell, even the police don't give a shit, if their 'insert name of victim here' letter they sent us after Dad got blown up by the Asian Serial Suicide Bomber while trying to protect an Asian woman from kidnapping is any indication.

Best thing a person could do in my opinion, besides killing the damn Endbringers, would be to put every damn villain's head on a pike and disband the PRT. Listening to my dad tell stories about his time in the police force made me realize that the damn PRT gets way too much money to sit on their damn asses and ignore the people they're supposed to protect. Hell, if Armsmaster made some power armor for the police forces, the villains would have a whole lot less fun than they are now.

The bell rang, shocking me out of my stupor. My groupmates were both gang members, Merchants judging by the overpowering smell of weed, and since I was busy with my internal monologue none of us had anything to turn in. Oh well. I was planning on dropping out soon anyway, so that I could have more time to work.

I just left the room, ignoring the group of girls standing outside the door and heading towards the cafeteria. The food was shit, but it was free, and saving even a few dollars was worth it in my opinion.

On my way there, however, one of the more open E88 members caught my attention. He had been leaning against the lockers, until he caught sight of me and stepped in front of me. "Well, well, well… if it ain't the faggot. The hell are you doing here, Kylie?"

"It's Kyle, shithead," I growled back, "And just because I don't stick my dick in every power outlet I see doesn't mean I'm gay, dumbass. What, do you and your 88 buddies suck each other off in the locker room? Hoping to make it an even 90? Fuck off, I don't have time for you right now."

"Oh, really?" he sneered, "I would've thought you'd be more polite to your betters. Especially since we both know how _dangerous_ it is for your _little bro_ out there. Wouldn't want him to get into an _unfortunate accident_, now would we?"

My blood froze in my veins. Oh, this wasn't the first time they'd threatened my little brother, but this was the first time I could tell that they _meant it_. "… What do you want, George?"

His sneer turned into a victorious smirk, "Oh, nothing much. Just that money you owe us, fuckwad. We let you off twice now, but no more. Three thousand dollars, in cash, by tonight. We'll get our money one way or the other, and I hear the Asians are taking their sex slaves a bit younger these days. What'll it be, Davidson? Clock's ticking…"

I just pushed past him, gripping my backpack strap harder to contain my rage. Stakes had just raised: I needed two and a half thousand more bucks, and I had nine hours until they showed up to collect. So, I made possibly the dumbest decision of my life so far.

I had tried calling both the police and the PRT before for help. Both of them had told me to fuck off, in no uncertain times. I had tried calling my dad's old contacts in the gangs, but of the two who were still alive only one of them had tried to help. They found his body the next morning.

And so, with no options left, I headed straight home, skipping class for the rest of the day. When I got home, I sat down at my desk and pulled out my computer. It was a fairly powerful piece of tech that I had assembled myself from scrap I found, and I had done some programming jobs using it to make some money on the side.

Now though? I was about to use it for something a bit less… legal. In fact, it was capital-I Illegal, to the point that I would be in jail for a _long_ time if I got caught. But it was either that, or sell my little brother into slavery, and _that wasn't gonna happen_.

And so, with that little factoid hanging over my head, I hacked into several different bank accounts that I had the login info for (it's amazing what you can find sitting around on your bosses' desks, especially when you work several jobs over a short period of time), and transferred exactly $2,569 to my throwaway bank account, the one I used for paying the E88.

Before I could even start making my way to the bank to withdraw it, however, there was a knock at the door. Grabbing the pistol on my nightstand (illegally obtained, though that wasn't difficult in Brockton Bay), I made my way to the door, holding the gun behind my back.

Opening the door slightly with one hand, I peeked outside. "Who is it?"

"Kyle! Help me!"

_Fuck. They got Brian._

_**A/N:**_

_**So, there's the first chapter! It's a bit short for my tastes, but it's just a prologue of things to come. As you can see, the MC has no knowledge of the story, and won't have any knowledge that he doesn't find out himself. Next chapter comes the trigger event, and I'll include the character sheet at the end of it. I tried my best to make a mostly balanced character that could still survive the craziness that is Worm, but there will be areas where he is more powerful than others. Not "let's kill a god by controlling **_**all the parahumans**_** and torturing him with his dead lover" levels of powerful, but powerful in terms of "Tinker: YES". Look forward to that I suppose.**_

_**Also, yes, I know that Party Rock wasn't released in April of 2011, but chalk it up to alternate timeline shenanigans or whatever because it isn't relevant in any way to the actual story.**_

_**Anyway, I'll see you all later with a new chapter. For now, this is AWDTB, signing off.**_


	2. INSERT: 2

_**A/N:**_

_**Welcome to chapter 2 of DESTINATION: INSERT! In this chapter, we explore the exciting and wonderful world of Worm, from the perspective of someone who isn't as objectively lucky as Taylor was (oh sure, the bullying campaign was terrible, no doubt about it, but at least they weren't **_**literally**_** trying to kill her or torture her or sell her family into slavery in order to squeeze a bit more money out of her). Really, if you think about it, before she became a villain Taylor actually had a damn good life by Brockton Bay standards. But that's not the point, the point is that Kyle's current situation isn't as easy to solve as a bullying campaign, and he's on his own at this point.**_

_**So, let's see how he handles it. Right after this disclaimer.**_

_**DISCLAIMER:**_

_**[ORIGINAL: AUTHOR?] [NEGATIVE]**_

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 8, 2011}**

**{DAVIDSON HOUSEHOLD, EMPIRE TERRITORY}**

"Kyle! Help me!"

My vision turned red, even as I took in the sight before me. Five skinhead goons, each of them covered in tattoos and openly carrying pistols of various kinds. The biggest one had his arms wrapped around my brother in a bear hug, grinning at me even as he squeezed. The cry of pain Brian let out almost made me start shooting.

_Okay, let's think through the situation. They're here several hours early, they obviously want something more than just the money you owe. They've already got Brian, so they expect you to go along with whatever they say. They have five guys here, all armed, so they obviously expect you to be able to put up a fight. But, if they don't want the money, what the hell are they here for?!_

"You know, Kyle," one of them spoke up, and with a start I recognized him as George, "you really must be an idiot if you thought the Empire wouldn't notice you scrounging around the junkyards for parts. All of you new Tinkers are the same, no common sense. Everyone knows the gangs keep an eye on the junkyards and stuff."

Wait… they think I'm a _parahuman_? Ah, fuck, I can see where this is going. No way in hell they'll leave me and Brian alone now, even if I convince them they're wrong. Fuck it, I'm already screwed anyway, what's a little more on top of that?

"… Heh. Yeah, you caught me. Sorry about all the things I said in my civilian identity, I was trying to distance myself from my future cape persona. After all, who would expect the anti-Nazi loner to be the newest Empire Tinker?"

As I dug my own grave, I watched my little brother's eyes widen. I wasn't sure what was going through his head, but I needed to get him out of this in one piece. Anything else could come later. I could read George's expression just fine though; he was absolutely _ecstatic _at the idea that he would be the one to add a Tinker to the gang's roster. Probably looking forward to a nice bonus I suppose.

"Oh, no hard feelings Kyle, I always knew you were a good guy deep down. Tell ya what, why don't you come with us, we'll take ya to the boss man."

Great. Now Kaiser was getting involved. Fuck, no way I'm getting out of this. Is there any way this could get worse? Don't answer that Murphy, go fuck yourself.

"… Alright. Lead the way George." I sighed, gripping the pistol tighter behind my back.

The big guy dropped Brian to the ground, none to gently, and as a whole the group turned to go walk away, likely expecting me to be right behind them, all gung-ho and ready to beat up some minorities.

What they didn't expect was for me to unload my pistol into their backs until it clicked empty. Three of them went down instantly, the big guy stumbled a bit before I nailed him in the head, and George managed to duck behind a wall before I could get him. I heard his footsteps running off in the distance, and I sighed, lowering my gun and slumping to the ground.

Fuck. Well, if I wasn't dead before, I am now.

All I could do was hold Brian as he cried into my shoulder, staring off into the distance and listening to the police sirens make their way towards us.

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 8, 2011}**

**{BROCKTON BAY POLICE DEPARTMENT HEADQUARTERS}**

_"Kyle Davidson, you are under arrest for the illegal possession of a firearm and for murdering four people in cold blood. You have the right to remain silent, everything you say can and will…"_

That was what got me into this mess. Sitting in a holding cell, not allowed any contact with the outside world, with the Empire gunning after me and my little brother. Just my luck that the cops who responded to my neighbor's 911 call were in the E88's pocket, because why wouldn't they be?

Anyway, that leads us to now. I hadn't seen a single lawyer yet, and no one had come by to tell me anything. For all I knew, the skinheads had already sold off my brother, and I wouldn't find out until I got out of jail… if I ever did.

The sound of the cell door opening caught my attention, and I looked up just in time to see a PRT officer step into the room. Great, looks like everyone thinks I'm a damn Tinker, because a normal person looking through junkyards at night for parts that they couldn't afford has never happened before. Fucking parahumans.

"Mister Davidson? I'm Officer Jenkins, with the-"

"I know what you're here for," I interrupted him, "and quite frankly, I don't give a shit. I want to see my little brother, _now_. We can talk after that."

He looked a bit uncomfortable, "Uh, that might be a problem… You see, Child Protective Services got involved once they heard about your situation, and… well, I'm afraid you won't be seeing your brother again. He's been put into foster care."

I felt something inside me just… _snap_. Months of fighting and doing my best to keep my brother safe, months of going hungry just to put food on the table for him, months of bouncing from job to job, some not even legal, in order to provide for my little brother… and _these fuckers just took him_.

I'd never see my brother again. Everyone thought I was a parahuman. The Empire was out for my blood, I now had a criminal record thanks to some dirty cop, and _everything I have ever done has amounted to nothing_.

_Everything I've built has been burnt to ash, in a single. Damn. Night._

And so, even as I felt the edges of my vision blacken, I lunged for the _fucker_ who thought _he had the right to tear down my life_-

**============={0}=============**

___Suddenly, I was somewhere else. Huge creatures filled my vision, somehow existing everywhere and nowhere at once, in multiple dimensions at a time. It was hard to tell how many there were, my mind simply unable to process it, but despite that I could tell there were two. Two massive… things, bigger than a planet but smaller than a house, power rivaling a galaxy but weaker than an ant. Massive contradictions, paradoxes in reality, something beyond human perception but easily seen by the naked eye._

_ Even as I felt my mind begin to crumble into pieces at the sheer _impossibility_ of what I was seeing, a small piece of one of the… worms, fell from the whole and began to make its way towards me. I felt a sense of… not alarm, not shock, but similar to surprise from the creature it fell from, as if it hadn't been expecting that piece to fall but also didn't particularly care either. I felt something similar from the… shard as well, as if it hadn't wanted to fall, as if it resented something for making it fall in the first place._

_ Something about the whole event seemed… wrong. As if this very thing had happened countless times before, but this time there was a mistake. It was hard to put into words, but I felt like the shard that had fallen, the massive grain of sand falling from the desert above me, wasn't meant to be released, as if it was both as integral to the function of the desert as the Sun, but also as useless as a tumbleweed rolling in the wind._

_ So many contradictions, so many things that made no sense but made perfect sense, so much _information_ was flowing into my brain. I felt a pain worse than any migraine I had felt before, but despite that I was able to understand a single exchange between the two massive creatures and the shard, a message that spanned solar systems and used more power than the entire Earth's population did in a year._

**[DESTINATION]**

**[AGREEMENT]**

**[TRAJECTORY]**

**[AGREEMENT]**

**[SURPRISE]**

**[PANIC]**

**[… NONCHALANCE]**

**[ANGER]**

_ And with that, my mind blanked, and I knew no more._

**============={0}=============**

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 9, 2011}**

**{BROCKTON MUNICIPAL HOSPITAL, BROCKTON BAY}**

When I opened my eyes, something was… different. My body was numb, I couldn't move my limbs, and there was an annoying beeping noise somewhere to my left. When I tried to move my neck to look, it didn't work, so I simply laid there and stared at the ceiling. Normally, I would have been more worried at my predicament, but my brain was too busy processing what it had just seen.

Two massive _somethings_ had, whether accidentally or on purpose, given me _something_. A piece of them, a shard of a being more massive than anything I could ever imagine. Said piece was… not defective, but… to put it in coding terms, it was a program that did exactly what it was supposed to, but more effectively and more thoroughly than needed. It was a math addition program that could perform advanced calculus, it was a proofreading program that could write doctorate-level papers. It did what it was programmed to do, but there weren't enough _limitations_ to what it could do. It was like using a sledgehammer to hammer in a nail, completely unnecessary and wasteful.

I also had no idea what the damn thing was supposed to do. It had felt like _Build_, tasted like _Create_, looked like _Invention_, but nothing that could be put into human terms, more ideas than words. I had absolutely no idea what in the hell had just happened, other than some kind of space magic bullshit had been involved.

Footsteps in the hallway had me turning my attention away from whatever was now inside me to the person who had just walked into the room. _Two people_, I corrected myself when I managed to move my head just enough to catch sight of the second.

One was clearly Armsmaster, that blue-steel armor gave it away, and the other had to be Panacea based off the fantasy healer outfit she had on. Great, apparently me being a 'Tinker' had them pulling in all the stops to keep me alive. Yeah, that'll turn out well once they find out I'm a normal, squishy human.

"Hello, Mister Davidson," Armsmaster started, "I'm here to ask you a few questions."

I rolled my eyes as best I could, what with my body being as sluggish as it was. "Yeah, well, I've got a few of my own, ya damn tin can. I'll even spell it out for you, so you can write it all down. Where. The. Hell. Is. My. Brother. You. Overcompensating. Fuck."

Panacea spoke up, "Look, Mister Davidson, we need to ask you questions so we can be sure you're not suffering any adverse effects from the tranquilizer."

Wait, the fucking _what_. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard you. Are you saying that you fuckers _tranquilized_ me?! The hell is wrong with you assholes?"

"It was deemed necessary to stop you from attacking Officer Jenkins. You were not responding to external stimuli, simply continuing to punch the officer's face despite his attempts to dislodge you using his stun gun," Armsmaster explained, his voice just as deadpan as before.

Huh. Apparently, I beat the shit out of that asshole. Good. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to upset the _fucker you sent to tell me my brother was taken from me_. I'll be sure to send him a 'Get Well Soon' card when I get out of here, cross my heart."

Armsmaster's annoyed sigh was music to my ears. "Mister Davidson, we are not your enemy. The PRT had nothing to do with your brother being taken from your custody. However, if you join the Wards, we promise to do our absolute best to-"

"Oh, fuck off! Even if I was a damn parahuman, I wouldn't join your sorry band of rejects! All you do is sit around and act like you give a damn, while letting the gangs stomp all over us normal people! Like hell I'd be a part of that shit!"

Panacea looked a bit confused at my outburst. "Uh, Mister Davidson… you _are_ a parahuman. You have an active Corona Pollentia and Gemma, which means that you have powers."

_What. The. Fuck._

"… Excuse me?" I croaked out, caught between anger and fear. If I did have powers, they sure as hell hadn't done me any good so far. Unless I had some bad luck power, in which case I was just going to go off myself once I got out of this bed, save the universe some trouble. But, if I did have powers now… well, the Empire knew where I lived, and suspected I was a parahuman. They also knew about Brian, and it wouldn't be very difficult to find a single kid in foster care if you knew their name and looks.

"That is correct. Mister Davidson, you are a parahuman with a criminal record. This means that you fall within the PRT's jurisdiction. And, judging from your previous action last night of stealing thousands of dollars from online bank accounts, you could be charged with the use of parahuman powers for economic purposes, which is an instant Birdcage sentence."

Son of a fucking _fuck_. I didn't use any damn powers to do that, but of course, the justice system couldn't care less about that. No, I'd be made an example of at best. I had no way out of this situation, other than whatever the PRT was offering.

_Fuck_.

"… What do you want?" I asked, defeated.

I swear I saw a smile form on the tin can's face. Asshole.

"The PRT ENE is willing to put you and your brother in the care of a vetted foster family, along with providing for your Tinkering, so long as you join the Brockton Bay Wards. We will also drop any and all charges against you, so long as you return the money you stole. Is this acceptable?"

No, it absolutely wasn't, but everyone here knew it was my only choice. Even if my brother wasn't in danger, if I got thrown in jail there was no way for me to provide for him anymore, so even if the Empire didn't kill him the foster system would fuck him up anyway.

And so, with a heavy hand and rage in my heart, I made a deal with the devil for the greater good.

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 10, 2011}**

**{THE RIG, BROCKTON BAY}**

"Alright, Mister Davidson, welcome to the Rig! Today we're going to do some power testing, if that's okay with you?"

The nerdy scientist guy in front of me was way too damn excited for my tastes. Who the hell even talks like that anyway, "if that's okay with you" my fucking ass. I didn't have a choice in the matter, the PRT held my leash and we both knew it. Oh well, it wasn't all bad; I had to admit, I was curious as well.

"… Alright. What's first?"

"Well, since we know you're a Tinker," yeah sure you do, "we'll start with that. Follow me and we'll head to the Scrapyard. Err, that's what we call the Tinker test area, because of all the different materials we have lying around, you know."

Man, this guy was even more socially inept than I was. Damn.

"… Cool. So… what's the test?"

"Ah, right! Sorry, my bad. Basically, we give you free reign to build whatever pops into your head. Usually we give you an hour, but that can increase depending on what you're building. After all, it's a bit difficult to build a whole vehicle in an hour," he gave a weak chuckle.

"… What happens if I don't have any ideas? If it turns out I'm not a Tinker?" I had to ask.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," he snorted, "You must have built _something_ already with all those parts you grabbed."

Great, another bunch of idiots who think I'm a Tinker. Oh, sure; apparently, I _am_ a parahuman now according to Pan-Pan, but just because I grabbed some old computer parts from a scrapyard doesn't mean I'm a damn Tinker.

We both stepped into the room, however, and all those thoughts flew out the window. The entire room was stocked with various electronics and metals, shelves covering every available inch of wall space and completely stuffed with goodies of all kinds. Just _looking_ at it gave me _so many ideas_.

"Now, do remember to ask if you need anything extra Mister Davidson. I'll be waiting outside for when you're… done… huh, he works fast."

I tuned out the man, already elbow-deep in a bunch of electronics and tearing apart anything that had any use to me. A vague blueprint was starting to form in my mind, some kind of weapon if I had to guess, but it was… incomplete. Oh, it would work, but just taking a look at it told me the damn thing would use more energy than the oil rig I was standing on could provide. The dimensions of it told me it was a pistol-sized gun.

A _pistol_ used more power than _the Tinker-powered oil rig I was on_. I sent the mental representation of my power a metaphorical raised eyebrow at that.

**[ANNOYANCE]**

I paused in the middle of dismantling some high-tech light, glancing around for a second before turning back to my work. Strange, I could have sworn I heard something…

**[SURPISE] [… QUERY]**

This time I sat down the half-assembled frame I was making, turning my attention inward. That time, I definitely heard it. It… sounded like when those massive worms talked in my vision…

**[SHOCK] [EXCITEMENT]**

** [… REALIZATION] [ANGER]**

… What? It was… surprised and excited that I could hear it, but then… it realized it was supposed to be angry at me? Or it realized something about me made it angry, one of the two. It was… hard to understand this thing, the messages weren't really in words but had meaning all the same. It reminded me of the feeling I got from seeing the shard, actually: a general sense of what it was, but no details.

So, I indulged my curiosity, and talked to it.

_'What are you?'_

**[BUILD] [CREATE] [INNOVATION] [KNOWLEDGE] [PROFICIENCY] [WARFARE]**

** [… DAMAGED] [BROKEN]**

I slumped to the ground, holding a hand to my head. I heard a panicked knocking on the room's door but ignored it in favor of the _incredible_ migraine I had just received. This… thing, this shard, was… to put a human title on it, **{Queen Warfare}**. It was… based around creating and maintaining things made for all-out war, and knew no other purpose but war. It could create any technology used for conventional warfare, with a few limitations.

It almost felt like pieces of it had been torn off and sent elsewhere. For instance, it should have been able to create explosive devices, but that part seemed to be missing. Even though a few parts were gone, however, it could still create things like small arms, armored vehicles, robots, and…

_Nanomachines_.

The moment I realized that nanomachines were an option, my mental blueprint switched gears. Instead of a ridiculously overpowered pistol that no one could hope to power without a nuclear generator, it became a '3D printer' of sorts, whose only purpose was to print nanomachines which could be used to create other things using some weird matter conversion feature. That didn't matter, however, because the important thing was…

_I was a Warfare Tinker._

And so, even as I blacked out once again, the observer bursting into the room in a panic, I felt an uncontrollable smile break out over my face. The Empire wouldn't know what hit them.

_**A/N:**_

_**So, here's the second chapter! Still a bit short for my tastes, but I felt that was a good place to end it. Yes, Kyle is a Warfare Tinker, based off my CYOA v5 choices: Small Arms, Robotics, Nanomachines, and Armored Warfare. The rest of the 'powers' are mostly secondary effects of how his powers expressed themselves.**_

_**On that note, what's up with the weird shard? Well, that will be explained a bit more next chapter (during a few interludes that will explain quite a few things that have been noticed by the MC), but the short explanation is that this shard wasn't meant to be released. Not like Queen Administrator, which was a crucial shard that was released into the cycle due to Scion's depression, but in a literal 'this shard is not ready yet' sense. This shard was the main Tinker shard (similar to the other Queen shards), but had pieces of it torn out to create other Tinker shards (for instance, Bakuda's). Scion accidentally lost hold of it while distracted, and didn't care enough to track it down, figuring it wasn't that important due to how ruined and broken it was.**_

_**It won't be too overpowered, especially with the sheer amount of drawbacks I chose for the MC here. But rest assured, things will go **_**very**_** different for the plot from this point onward.**_

_**Anyway, with all that said, I'll see you all next time with a new chapter. This is AWDTB, signing off.**_

_**Character Sheet:**_

**SCENARIO:**

_**Gestation (+15, +15)**_

**PATH:**

_**Vigilante**_

**ORIGIN:**

_**Insert (Male, Teenager [Age 16])**_

**CIVILIAN IDENTITY:**

_**High Schooler (-0, -0) (15, 15)**_

**COSTUME:**

_**Armor (-5, -0) (10, 15)**_

**SKILLS: **

_**Banter (-1, -0) (9, 15)**_

_**Hacking (-1, -0) (8, 15)**_

_**Marksmanship (-5, -0) (3, 15)**_

_**Martial Arts (-4, -0) (-1, 15)**_

_**Stealth (-3, -0) (-4, 15)**_

**SHARD:**

_**Natural Trigger (+3, +0) (-1, 15)**_

**PERKS:**

_**Voice in My Head (-0, -2) (-1, 13)**_

_**Noctis Cape (-0, -1) (-1, 12)**_

_**Plot Convenience (-1, -0) (-2, 12)**_

_**Second Trigger (-4, -3) (-6, 9)**_

**FLAWS:**

_**Rough Start (x2) (+4, +0) (-2, 9)**_

_**Worst Day Ever (x2) (+4, +2) (2, 11)**_

_**Memory Death (+4, +0) (6, 11)**_

_**Unruly Passenger (+0, +4) (6, 15)**_

_**Psychic Nosebleed (+0, +3) (6, 18)**_

_**Slaughterhouse 9 (+4, +2) (10, 20)**_

_**Endbringer Target (+3, +4) (13, 24)**_

_**Humble Beginnings (+5, +5) (18, 29)**_

**GIFT:**

_**Plot Relevance**_

**POWERS:**

_**Small Arms (-0, -3) (18, 26) (Second Trigger)**_

_**Robotic (-0, -7) (18, 19)**_

_**Nanomachines (-0, -10) (18, 9)**_

_**Armored Warfare (-0, -5) (18, 4) **_

_**Proficiency (-0, -2) (18, 2)**_

_**True or False (-0, -3) (18, -1)**_

_**Do You Even Lift (-0, -3) (18, -4)**_

**PATH-SPECIFIC:**

_**Ambivalent (+4, +4) (22, 0)**_

**EQUIPMENT:**

_**Sniper Rifle (-3, -0) (19, 0)**_

_**Blade (-1, -0) (18, 0)**_

_**Bombs (-2, -0) (16, 0)**_

_**Tinkertech (-4, -0) (12, 0)**_

_**Stealth Suit (-2, -0) (10, 0)**_

_**Tool Belt (-1, -0) (9, 0)**_

_**Supply Line (-4, -0) (5, 0)**_

_**PRT Info (-5, -0) (0, 0)**_


	3. INSERT: INTERLUDE

_**A/N:**_

_**Welcome, one and all, to the Interlude chapter! Yes, yes, it's boring, but I need to get this out of the way to explain a few things that won't make much sense otherwise without a long Author's Note that no one will read. This Interlude will be in first person (except for one specific part), so each scene change will include a name section that tells you which character is being used at the moment. This character change will only happen during Interludes, so you don't have to worry about that outside of this type of chapter.**_

_**With that out of the way, let's get on to your favorite part of this story: The Disclaimer!**_

_**DISCLAIMER:**_

_**[QUERY: HUMAN?] [NEGATIVE]**_

_**[QUERY: OWNER?] [NEGATIVE]**_

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 8, 2011}**

**{E88 SAFEHOUSE, BROCKTON BAY}**

**{GEORGE BARTLEY}**

_Holy shit, holy shit, holy fucking shit! He just… he just shot them! All of them! And he was gonna shoot me! Holy…_

My thoughts were focused what had just happened, even as I waited for my contact to arrive. Absolutely _nothing_ I had seen from Kyle had prepared me for that. I didn't know he had a gun at all, let alone that he was apparently good enough with it to take us all down without a fight! One second, I was focused on the promotion I was gonna get for bringing in a new E88 cape, the next I was running for my life from some crazy asshole who was shooting at me!

"Mister… Bartley, I presume?" the man in front of me wore the colors, with a swastika armband on his arm.

I let out a quick sigh of relief. "Yeah… yeah, that's me. I have news for the boss."

The man raised an eyebrow, "News such as? You should know, that bothering the Kaiser without good cause does not end well."

His tone was dismissive, and I bristled a bit before calming down. "News such as the _white _Tinker who goes to my school and just killed four of our guys. I figure that'll catch his attention, don't you?"

The man paused for a moment, before gesturing for me to sit down. "Tell me _everything_."

And I did. For several minutes straight, I told him everything I knew about Kyle Davidson and his brother, everything I had seen at school, how he owed us protection money, and about our failed recruitment attempt. The man just sat there, taking it all in with the same calm expression until I stopped talking.

"You are certain that this 'Kyle' is a parahuman Tinker? There is no doubt?"

I couldn't help laughing a bit, "At first I wasn't sure, but the fucker admitted it when we called him out on it. Said he wanted to join, too, until he shot us in the back when we tried to bring him to the boss. With all the parts he took out of the junkyards, he's gotta be a pretty powerful one. Way too much stuff to just build a shitty computer or something."

The man nodded, clearly deep in thought. "You and I are the only ones who know of this new parahuman, correct?"

Uh… weird question, but okay. "Yeah, I made sure to keep it in the group for, uh, secrecy and all that." Actually, I kept it a secret so that I could claim all the credit for it, but he didn't need to know that.

He nodded again, before saying something that made my blood freeze. "Good, you're the only loose end I need to take care of. Sorry kid, nothing personal."

Wait, is that a pistol in his-

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 8, 2011}**

**{SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN}**

**{ZION}**

The being known as "Scion" was currently experiencing something that most humans would describe as "boredom". This was not the first or the last time the entity would experience this, according to its precognitive shards, but this current experience was almost overpowering in a way. The being had already saved over a million people today, and yet it felt… meaningless. As if it was simply going through the motions, treating the symptoms and not the problem.

But, none of that particularly matters to "Scion". The only thing that had mattered to it had long since been lost to it, the "Thinker" was dead or close to it, and none of its shards could locate its counterpart. It had been following the directives of a human male to "be a hero", but the directive was so open-ended that everything it did seemed to fulfill at least part of that purpose. Even the release of shards seemed to agree with the directive, despite the damage they would inevitably cause. Perhaps one day, it would find its counterpart. Perhaps its counterpart would even spare the human who had given the directive as well.

The entity felt a strange sensation in its core as several of its outer shards made way for an inner one. It was surprised at the feeling, and a small part of it recognized the shard as a crucial one, despite its damage. Before it had decided what action to take, however, the shard had already made its way to the outer edge of the entity and dropped away. The being could have caught it, all it would have taken was burning half a month's worth of energy, but… it still held out hope that it would discover the "Thinker's" location. If it did, it would need all of its energy to repair its counterpart.

And so, it dedicated its processing shards to finding the nearest human that required assistance, ignoring the shard's shock and anger as it fell to the planet below. With a metaphorical shrug, it placed the event out of its mind, not even dedicated a monitoring shard to check in on the lost shard. After all, at the end of the Cycle it would collect it once again, so a few more years or decades wouldn't be much of a factor in the long run.

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 9, 2011}**

**{PRT ENE HEADQUARTERS, BROCKTON BAY}**

**{DIRECTOR EMILY PIGGOT}**

"… What am I looking at Armsmaster?"

The Tinker in front of me straightened a bit at being addressed, before speaking up. "This is Kyle Davidson, suspected Tinker and known parahuman, confirmed by Panacea when she healed him earlier today. Arrested for the illegal possession of a firearm and accused of four counts of first-degree murder. The second charge was dropped upon viewing the evidence, and the police officer who made the accusation was put on probation due to all evidence pointing towards this event being self-defense. While Dragon and I were researching Mister Davidson's background, we discovered that yesterday at exactly two o'clock in the evening, he siphoned two-thousand, five-hundred and sixty-nine dollars in total from various businesses, all of which he had been fired from in the past three months.

"When Officer Jenkins attempted to speak with him, Mister Davidson was uncooperative, and even turned hostile upon learning that Child Protective Services had placed his younger brother in foster care. He began to physically assault the officer, ignoring any attempts at pacification until the second PRT Trooper, Officer Jamison, shot him with a tranquilizer dart. None of the damage done or endurance was outside that of a normal human, if sufficiently motivated."

I massaged my temples with one hand, using the other to gesture sarcastically at Armsmaster. "Yes, thank you, Armsmaster. I read the report earlier. What I am asking, is your professional opinion on the possibility of inducting this boy into the Wards program, and what we need to do for it to happen."

The infuriating man just nodded, before changing the presentation slide to one showing a young boy. _Brian Davidson_, my mind provided me. "This boy is Brian Davidson, brother to the aforementioned Kyle Davidson. He is twelve years old and has been under the care of his brother ever since their father died almost half a year ago at the hands of Oni Lee. All things considered, the older Davidson has been an acceptable caretaker, managing to keep his brother safe and healthy despite living in the heart of Empire territory. Judging by his reaction to his brother being taken into foster care, Kyle Davidson could easily be persuaded into the Wards program using a combination of carrot and stick. The carrot being his brother's release back into his care, and the stick being the threat of jail time due to his criminal record and being unable to see his brother again due to said record."

Hmm… an open-and-shut case if I had ever seen one before. Hell, the boy was already more polite than Hess was, despite his open hostility so far. "If we assume that he used a parahuman ability to steal the money, could we threaten him with the Birdcage?"

Armsmaster's lips twisted into a slight frown, but he answered nonetheless, "Yes, Director. According to American law, the use of a parahuman ability for economic purposes is punishable with the Birdcage, and hefty fines and jail time for any non-parahumans involved. The law is meant for parahumans who use their powers to play the stock market, however."

I waved his concern away. Oh, I didn't like doing it, but the last thing I needed was yet _another_ Tinker making a mess in my city. I already had two fucking around, and good reason to believe a third had joined the ABB lately. If I could keep a _fourth_ off the streets, whether he was in jail or in the Wards didn't particularly matter. "Good. When he wakes, you and Panacea will check up on him as planned, but you will also push for Wards membership. Make sure he knows this is his only way to both get his brother and stay out of the Birdcage. Understood?"

"… Is that an order, ma'am?" he had the gall to ask.

"You're damn right it's an order. I want that kid on my side, and I want it _yesterday_. You're dismissed," I barked with my best stern expression.

The Tinker just nodded slightly, before grabbing his gear and leaving the room. After he was gone, I slumped back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.

_Fuck._

Sometimes, I really hate my job.

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 10, 2011}**

**{THE RIG, BROCKTON BAY}**

**{JONATHAN SHIELDS, DOCTORATE IN THEORETICAL PHYSICS}**

Sometimes, I really hate my job.

It had started pretty normally: greet the edgy teenager with incredible powers, lead them to the power testing room, tell them to have fun. Observe through the window as the Tinker created something that would make modern scientists cry themselves to sleep, the usual.

And that was what was happening at first. The frame on the workbench in the middle of the room resembled the shape of a pistol, with a few extra bits and bobs that probably let it transform into a nuclear grenade or something, fucking Tinkers. But then the kid just… stopped.

Not just a pause, like he was looking for something, but a full-on _freeze_. His arms stopped mid-way through dismantling something, his eyes didn't move, and he just stood in this half-bend that definitely couldn't have been comfortable. He just stood there in the position for a bit, before he jerked back and slumped against the wall.

The moment that happened, I was calling in codes on my earpiece and trying to unlock the door (standard procedure is to lock Tinkers in the room so they couldn't tear apart the Rig for materials). Right as I managed to get the door open, the kid just slumped over and passed out with a massive grin on his face.

Something about it worried me. Oh, sure, passing out was pretty worrying, but this kid was bleeding from his nostrils and just had this smile on his face, like he was the happiest person in the world right now. It was… _wrong_, I had no words to describe it other than it made my skin crawl. There was something fundamentally wrong with this kid, his powers, or both.

And so, even as I watched the on-base paramedics lead him away, I turned back to what he had been building. The frame was obviously for a handheld weapon, and a weapon Tinker was already worrying, but what caught my eye were the two prongs that made up the barrel. There were a few wires already in place, along with a few metal panels that made up the casing, but what worried me was the _magnetic strip_ along the top prong.

It was obviously incomplete, but somehow, this kid was making a fucking _railgun_ the size of my forearm. If this was what he could make with a pistol frame, what the hell could he do with a rifle? Or, God forbid, a heavy weapon frame?

Thank all that's holy this kid is on our side, because I had no desire to see just how much damage a railgun or plasma rifle could do to a human body.

On the bright side, the gangs were about to get a rude awakening.

_I can't wait._

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 11, 2011}**

**{PRT ENE HEADQUARTERS, BROCKTON BAY}**

**{DIRECTOR EMILY PIGGOT}**

… _What_.

"Armsmaster. Are you telling me, that _you_, with no help, managed to take down Lung?"

The Tinker shifted a bit, before replying. "Yes, Director. The tranquilizer I prepared was able to subdue him as predicted."

"Uh-huh, sure. Then why do I have reports that, due to the vast amounts of venom in his body, his _genitals have rotted off_?" I gave him an unimpressed look.

I didn't actually give a shit about Lung's injuries; he'd regenerate eventually and if nothing else I'd call it fucking karma for everyone he roasted alive while rampaging. But, I knew for a fact that Armsmaster hadn't run any ideas for Tinker genital-rotting-venom by me, so either he had help, or this conversation was about to be a lot less fun for both of us.

"… There was another parahuman there. An insect controller, who had fought Lung before I arrived. She wished to remain anonymous, in order to protect herself from any retaliation from the ABB. She also felt that joining the Wards was not for her at the moment but reiterated that she was a hero nonetheless."

Ah, so he had help. I noticed that he didn't say how much she had done in the fight, but let it go in favor of asking more pressing questions. "How would you rate her from what you saw? Should we be worried if she turns against us?"

His expression grew even more serious than before. "Judging by the number of insect bites and stings on Lung? Master 3 at least, there must have been dozens or even hundreds of insects that she was controlling. Despite how weak something like bug control sounds, the fact that she was able to hold her own against Lung, and even override his regeneration with venom means that she not only has complete control of said insects, as most insects do not release that much venom in a single bite or sting, but she is also able to do a lot of damage against even Brutes. She expressed her want to be a hero, and my lie detector read it as the truth, but her dark costume sheds some doubt on that. Despite her villainous looks and power, however, she could make a useful ally if we can convince her to work with us."

"You're sure she's Wards age? Maybe we could convince her to join as well; two new Wards would certainly help our PR, not to mention the firepower that they would bring."

"Absolutely ma'am, her voice patterns matched those of a teenaged girl, likely fifteen or sixteen, despite her height and general male silhouette. She seemed to be socially awkward, likely the result of shyness or bullying, however she is apparently confident enough to take on Lung on what seemed to be her first night out, as she hasn't chosen a name yet. Due to the, on the surface, apparent weakness of her power, I feel that this is a result of her own moral compass or personality, not a product of having an overly powerful ability.

"Speaking of future Wards, however, you may be interested to know that Mister Davidson has woken from his unconsciousness and is arguing with the doctors. He claims that the reason he passed out was due to discovering the sheer scope of his power; apparently, he is a _Warfare_ Tinker. I believe you understand the implications of that already, but to add on to the issue, Doctor Jonathan Shields recognized the unfinished weapon Mister Davidson was building as a handheld, pistol-sized railgun. Upon observation, I find myself concurring with his assessment.

"All of that would be a potential headache as is, if it wasn't for how Mister Davidson claims to have received the information on his specialty." Armsmaster looked me directly in the eyes, and I could tell that his next words would only worsen my headache.

"He claims he can speak to whatever is providing him his power."

_Damnit, sometimes I wished I could just get shit-faced drunk. _"… I'll inform the Chief Director. Either we have a Master/Stranger situation, or this is way above my paygrade."

**{EARTH WITCH}**

**{APRIL 11, 2011}**

**{CAULDRON HEADQUARTERS}**

**{ALEXANDRIA}**

I stepped through Doormaker's portal, not wasting any time. "There's been a new development."

Eidolon rolled his eyes at my obvious statement, and Doctor Mother made a gesture for me to get on with it. I held back my annoyance and continued, "You remember our Brockton Bay experiment? Well, there's been a new trigger. A Warfare Tinker, who claims he can speak with his agent."

All of their eyes widened as they realized the seriousness of the issue. Doctor Mother turned to Contessa and asked, "Can you Path him?"

"… Path who?" the suited woman asked in confusion.

That was worrying, but I continued on, "His name is Kyle Davidson. Luckily, Director Piggot was able to get him in the Wards, though the way she did it was overly heavy-handed as usual. Communication with his agent apparently causes great strain to his mind, as he passed out with a nosebleed after asking a single question: 'What are you?' Scion has not noticeably changed his actions in any way, nor has there been any interference from the Endbringers, including the Simurgh. Best case scenario, he's a Blindspot to everyone but Contessa. Worst case scenario, he's a Scion or Simurgh plot and is already compromised."

After a few moments, Contessa shrugged. "He's included in the background of any path I make for Brockton Bay, but doesn't appear to cause any issues in the long run. He doesn't seem to be that important in the grand scheme of things."

Legend gave me a look. "A _Warfare_ Tinker? What all is he able to build? With a specialty like that, he could be…"

He trailed off, but I caught the last of his thoughts. _The next Hero_. "Unknown. So far, he claims to be able to build handheld weaponry ranging from pistols to heavy squad weapons, power armor ranging from heavy juggernauts to light stealth suits, vehicles ranging from one-person motorcycles to spacecraft so long as there is a weapon attached, and nanomachines that are able to break down molecular bonds and convert matter into different elements."

Doctor Mother looked worried this time, "Nanomachines? The others are fairly standard Tinker fare, if a bit more offensive than normal. Nanomachines are incredibly versatile and dangerous, of course, but they're not exactly _warlike_ in the conventional sense. With a specialty as diverse as that, there's almost no way that he wouldn't feature heavily in at least a few of Contessa's paths."

The fedora woman shook her head, however, "There's not a single path where he plays more than a background role. In fact, it almost seems as if he isn't a parahuman at all, with how little he does."

Those of us without precognitive powers exchanged a glance. Either Contessa's power was working perfectly, which would mean that this incredibly powerful Tinker didn't make anything at all despite being in the Wards, or he was a Blindspot in the worst way: giving just enough rope for us to hang ourselves with.

"For now, we'll observe. However, I want our best parahuman psychologist to speak with him and discover just how the agents think and act. If we're lucky, we might even be able to find a weakness to exploit with Scion," I spoke, looking at each of the others in turn. Contessa seemed annoyed, as if she didn't find it necessary, but the rest of them agreed with my decision.

"Very well. On that note, is there anything else that we should discuss in this meeting?"

Legend spoke up, talking about a new development with a local villain, but part of my attention was still dedicated to the powerful Tinker that apparently changed everything we knew about parahumans.

If agents could think and communicate, then what did that mean for the rest of us? How many natural triggers were walking information leaks just waiting to happen?

_**A/N:**_

_**Alright, in this chapter you see a few reactions to Kyle's unique situation, and a bit of a glimpse into the main story plot. Yes, the Lung fight still happened, because there was absolutely no way Kyle could have realistically changed that event while staying in character. This also means that Taylor will join the Undersiders, and her story will continue on with that as a start.**_

_**This doesn't mean, however, that she will become Warlord Skitter, or even that her immediate future will remain the same. Next chapter, Kyle meets the Wards, and gets to play Tinker again (with a bit more success this time).**_

_**He'll also get a PRT threat rating at the end of next chapter, where you get to see a bit more of the PRT's freakout involving his powers.**_

_**That's all for now, though I will say don't expect another chapter this soon again. Anyway, this is AWDTB, signing off. I'll see you all later.**_


	4. INSERT: 3

_**A/N:**_

_**Welcome to the chapter where things start picking up. In this installment of DESTINATION: INSERT, fun things happen. Such as Tinkering, Ward meetings, and enough **_**CONFLICT**_** to make Eden proud (well, maybe not that last bit just yet). This will also be a bit longer than you're used to in this story, so you're welcome.**_

_**Anyway, I don't have a fun entity disclaimer this time, so here's the standard boring one.**_

_**DISCLAIMER: Shockingly, I do not in fact own Worm, or its sequel Ward. What I do own is a gaming laptop that I use to write fanfiction instead of doing something productive with my life. So, free use, don't sue, yadda yadda, etc. etc.**_

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 11, 2011}**

**{WINSLOW HIGH SCHOOL, BROCKTON BAY}**

Here I was, once again. A hellhole the likes of which surpassed even Ellisburg or Madison: high school. Why the hell I had to go to school now I had no idea, especially since I had just woken up a few hours ago and every single one of the idiots here had seen the news where they talked about me killing four gang members outside my house. Of course, my apparent 'danger' did nothing to stop them from gossiping behind my back, talking about how 'violent' I was and how they 'knew I was a psycho all along'.

_Yeah, I'd love to see them keep talking when I held a Tinker gun to their heads._

That… hold up. Since when do I have thoughts like that? Sure, I'd love to beat them up, but threatening to kill them was a step too far, they were just gossiping…

**[ANNOYANCE] [CONFLICT]**

Ah, right, the damn voice in my head. No, voice, I don't really feel like going on a murder spree through the whole school right now. That definitely wouldn't help my case in the slightest.

**[ANGER] [CONFLICT]**

No, voice, I don't feel any angrier than I did a few seconds ago. Also, again, I'm not going to make a hydrogen bomb to blow up the city. Please stop asking.

**[CONFLICT] [REWARD]**

What, you're willing to unlock more blueprints for my Tinkering if I go out and fight things? … Alright, I was planning on doing that anyway. But no killing just yet, that'll just get me thrown in jail where I can't fight anymore anyway. Maybe once I get out from under the PRT's thumb, I can go shoot Skidmark in the face or something.

Hell, I'd probably get a medal for that.

**[ANNOYANCE] [… ACCEPTANCE]**

Yeah, glad we could come to an accord. Not like I'm the one in control or anything, no, obviously you have a say in everything I do… jeez, you're worse than my ex was.

**[… CONFUSION]**

Uh, ex-girlfriend, it means a former lover that I had once. She liked to nag at me a lot, I dumped her after my dad died when she told me that wasn't a good enough reason not to take her shopping like I promised. Massive bitch, that one.

**[… REALIZATION] [ANGER]**

Ah, right, uh… I didn't mean it literally, I was just grumbling a bit cause I'm annoyed. Not at you really, just… at life in general. A lot of things haven't been going my way lately, and getting powers didn't really help much.

**[ACCEPTANCE] [DISMISSAL]**

Wow, you're an arrogant one. Alright then, _your majesty_. The hell kind of name is **{QUEEN WARFARE}** anyway?

Not receiving an answer from the shard, I just shrugged and turned back to my sketchbook. Normally, I would spend class half listening to music and half complaining about my life, but now I couldn't stop sketching out blueprints for various weapons and whatnot. With any luck, anyone who saw them would just think I was a Sci-Fi artist or something, but so far I had designed enough weapons to supply a small army, and three different land vehicles.

Luckily, the bell rang before I could get lost in my designs again, so I picked up my backpack and made my way out of the classroom. That had been my last class of the day, so now all that was left to do was visit my locker and grab my stuff before I left.

Unfortunately for me, the queen bitch of the school was waiting for me there. Next to her stood her main enforcer, and the add-on. Not in the mood to deal with them, I tried to push past. Before I could, Sophia's hand caught my shoulder.

**[HOSTILITY] [CONFLICT]**

No, shut up, I'm not going to kill them, please just stop talking.

"Well hello there, Kyle. I hear you had an… _incident_ over the weekend."

_SON OF A FUCKING BITCH._

"… What about it, Hess?" I gave them my best glare. Madison looked sufficiently cowed, and Emma looked a bit startled, but all Sophia did was smile.

"According to the rumors, you killed four gang members when they attacked you at home. What do you say to that?"

**[CONFLICT?]**

No, I'm not, no killing, just be quiet! "… Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. Don't see how it's any of your business."

"Well, I think it's certainly my business. You see, what you did… it proves you're a survivor. That you're willing to fight back when you're threatened. You're not weak like most of the people here. You know–"

**[CONFLICT] [REWARD] [CONFLICT] [REWARD] [CONFL-]**

"_Shut the fuck up!_" I shouted, breathing heavily.

It took a few moments for me to realize I said that out loud, and I quickly composed myself. "I'm not in the fucking mood right now, you damn bitch. You and your bottom-feeder friends can go make out with each other behind the lockers, right now I have places to be and things to do that involve a different group of pretentious assholes than you three. So would you kindly _fuck off_."

It wasn't a question, despite being phrased as one, and all of them knew it. Despite the anger on their faces, they didn't try to stop me when I pushed by them, and I walked out the front door.

_I really need to come to an agreement with this damn shard_.

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 11, 2011}**

**{THE RIG, BROCKTON BAY}**

The same idiot as last time met me outside the testing room. "Hey there Kyle, welcome back! Let's try this whole thing again with a bit less unconsciousness, right?"

**[CONFLICT?]**

No, Queenie, I'm not killing this guy either. If he keeps up the jokes, however, I _will_ punch him in the face.

The guy must have picked up on my hostility, because he just coughed into his fist and opened the door for me. "Just, ah, remember not to make anything radioactive or biochemical, alright?"

Sure, no problem, just limit my best designs like that why don't you. Oh well, once I get the nanomachines up and running I'll have all the time in the world to make whatever I want. The ability to create what amounts to programmable matter was _definitely_ a big plus in my book.

I sat down at the workbench, ignoring the scientist as he locked the door behind me. Instead, I let my mind go wild. Blueprints practically shoved each other to the side, as if my shard couldn't decide what I needed at the moment, but I just waited for them to stop coming before I spoke.

"Alright Queenie, give me something for nanobots, and we'll go from there."

**[… ACKNOWLEDGEMENT] [AGREEMENT] [CONDITIONAL]**

"… Yes, I'm going to use them to fight people. Actually, I'm going to use them to build things to use to fight people, but it's the same thing really."

**[DISAGREEMENT]**

"Look, Queenie, the faster I get these nanomachines built, the faster I can build a weapon and get into the thick of it, alright? The longer I have to wait, the longer you have to wait."

**[… AGREEMENT] [INFORMATION]**

Ah, your standard, everyday tiny drone printer. Small enough to fit in my pants pocket, it could take in scrap metal and turn it into a small robot that was controlled by a mental implant that-

Wait a minute.

"No, Queenie, I'm not putting anything in my brain right now. How about some that I can program to do simple tasks, and maybe we can do the implant thing later?"

**[ANNOYANCE] [INFORMATION]**

Alright, same as before, but this time the little bots could receive simple signals from a small wrist-mounted computer. More complex commands could be sent from a larger computer, and all the code seemed similar enough to the C languages that I could understand it. Syntax was close enough, at least.

"That'll do. Let's get this thing built, shall we?"

**[EXCITEMENT] [… ANNOYANCE]**

… Alright then, be like that.

And so, I found myself elbow-deep in electronics once again, tearing apart anything that caught my eye as the nano-printer began to take shape before my eyes. First, a rectangular prism made of metal strips, then a collection of small wires and circuit boards, then a handful of various moving bits, and finally six metal plates, with one of the smaller ones having a hole in it to allow the bot to fly out. A small antenna on top, so it could receive control signals, and a small remote the same size that could supply said control signals.

Honestly, the printer seemed way too small to be able to do what it was supposed to. The thing was more advanced than any 3D printer I had ever seen, and more precise as well. The remote itself had processing power similar to a low-end laptop as well, despite just being used to give commands to the printer. All told, the technology I had just casually assembled seemed a bit… impossibly advanced, despite the fact that I understood every single thing I had just done, and could even explain it if asked.

That felt weird, because from what I knew, Tinkers couldn't explain their work. Only Dragon had been able to come close to reverse-engineering their tech, and even she couldn't fully explain it so that it could be reproduced. My tech, on the other hand? Oh, sure, it required some advanced knowledge of physics concepts that I was fairly certain humanity hadn't discovered yet, but it was definitely reproducible.

Huh, if I can make a printer for nanobots… Can I make a larger printer that used nanobots to assemble weapons or armor, or even vehicles?

**[SURPRISE] [… INFORMATION]**

… Oh boy that's a lot of very expensive material, but _damn_ the payoff is worth it. A plethora of blueprints, with sizes ranging from smaller than my head to bigger than a house, and every one of them able to break down the molecules of whatever was put inside and reassemble those molecules into different shapes.

In other words: put junk in, get war machine out.

But for now, I had more pressing concerns. I needed some armor, and I needed a weapon. I've never been particularly athletic, so a heavier armored suit would be better until I get some more flexibility, and the only weapons I had ever used were hunting rifles and pistols, along with a shotgun once or twice.

Before I could make those, though, I needed to start making nanobots. So, I shrugged and dropped a handful of screws and such into the printer and set it to start its work. While it started to slowly form my first ever nanobot, I turned back to the wrist-mounted controller. After a quick glance, I sent a command to the printer's assembler.

_Multiply. Limit: 20._

The command would cause the first drone to go out, gather some suitable material, and bring it back for the printer to make another. This process would continue until twenty total drones had been created, at which point all of them would shut down and await further instructions. Quite a handy feature, actually.

With that out of the way, I looked up at the clock on the wall. So far, two hours had passed, meaning it was around half past five in the evening. I had a meeting with the Wards in… two and a half hours, which meant I had plenty of time to start on my main weapon.

And so, I turned my attention back to the workbench, and the piles of scrap sitting on it.

"Queenie? It's time to make something for _combat_."

**[ANTICIPATION]**

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 11, 2011}**

**{PRT ENE HEADQUARTERS, BROCKTON BAY}**

I stood next to Miss Militia outside the Wards' area, a standard domino mask over my face and my controller attached to my wrist. It had taken a lot of convincing for the PRT to let me keep it, but there was absolutely no way in hell I was meeting with a bunch of superpowered teenagers without _something_ to protect myself with, and I made sure they knew that.

So here I am now, standing next to the woman whose power was literally _guns_, with nothing but a handful of tiny drones to defend myself. If any one of them decided to attack me, there really wasn't all that much I could do about it.

**[INFORMATION]**

… Except drill a hole in their brains and hearts with a nanobot, apparently.

"Let's, uh, save that for Plan Z, alright Queenie?"

"Hmm?" Miss Militia glanced to me, and I realized I had spoken aloud again. I really need to get a handle on that…

"Oh, uh, just talking to my power. She, uh, she's a bit… _intense_ when it comes to fighting."

Like hell I was telling the woman with _all the guns_ that I could drill a hole through her head with my tiny robots, she might just shoot me and be done with it. Getting killed this early would definitely throw a wrench into my plans, and that's not even mentioning my personal dislike of dying.

Miss Militia seemed interested in just what Queenie had said, but the door to the Wards area opened before she could ask. Shaking her head, she waved for me to step in, following after me and gesturing at the costumed kids in front of me.

"Here we have Vista, Kid Win, and Gallant. Shadow Stalker and Aegis are on patrol at the moment, and Clockblocker is at home due to a family emergency. Wards, this is War Machine, our newest Tinker."

Ah, yes. _War Machine_, the name that the image department picked out for me after a few minutes' debate. Personally, I thought it was idiotic (who the hell picks a name that literally tells everyone what they can do, anyway?), but of course I was underaged and therefore my opinion mattered about as much as the shit I stepped in the other day.

Assholes, the lot of them.

Realizing I was supposed to say something, I cleared my throat and gave a halfhearted wave. "Hey. Name's War Machine, I build things that kill people."

The frown Miss Militia sent me had my lips twisting upwards, but she continued on with her introductions. "War Machine is… technically correct. His Tinker specialty is Warfare, and he can make anything used for conventional warfare, along with nanomachines. He is working on his costume at the moment, so he'll be working Console until he's finished. Clockblocker can teach him how it works when he comes in tomorrow, but tonight we just want you all to get to know each other."

… What is this, some middle school class where we all do icebreakers together? I don't give a shit about getting to know these people, because the moment I get the chance I'm leaving.

Those of us under the age of twenty just stared awkwardly at each other, before Vista piped up. "Uh, hi! I'm Vista, it's nice to meet you War Machine!"

That seemed to have broken the ice for the rest of them, because Gallant went next. "Hey there, I'm Gallant. Nice to have another Ward on the team."

Kid Win's introduction was a bit more… excited. "Hey! Nice to have another Tinker on the team! I see that computer on your wrist has a pretty powerful transmitter for its size, what does it control? Do you have an army of robots you're building that it controls? It has to have a range of at least a mile, which is way too short for a communicator but could probably be used to–"

Gallant nudged him, "Hey, Kid, you're making the guy uncomfortable. Maybe do the Tinker-talk later, alright?"

… I felt like an outsider, similar to how it was at Winslow. Each of the Wards here was obviously comfortable enough with each other to trust the others to watch their back, whether in a fight or in day-to-day life. It showed in the way they looked to each other for reassurance or guidance, something I had never really seen before. It reminded me of my relationship with my little brother, in a way.

Speaking of Brian, I was informed that he and I would be assigned to a new family tomorrow. And yes, the word 'assigned' was used, we had no choice in the matter. They'd better hope this family treated my brother right, or so help me I'd turn all of them to sizzling goop with a plasma cannon.

As the room descended into awkward silence again, Miss Militia spoke up. "War Machine, why don't you tell them what all you can do? After all, if you're going to work with them, it would be better if you all know where your talents are most useful."

Oh, sure, and the PRT has no ulterior motives in learning everything I'm able to make. Not like I'm hiding anything other than the more dangerous options anyway (something tells me that my nuclear grenades would not get approved).

"… Alright. Well, I'm a Warfare Tinker, so pretty much all of my tech is used to kill people. Not a lot of 'non-lethal' options here, since even my weaker weapons can punch or burn a hole through a baseline human with no issue. I can also mass-produce my stuff once I get some nano-fabricators built, so I'll be able to outfit the police and PRT troopers with easy-to-use Tinkertech gear. So far, I've got blueprints for railguns, plasma weapons, lasers, napalm and thermite flamethrowers, gatling cannons that shoot dozens of rounds a second, and all kinds of other fun things. My power armor designs range from a skintight stealth suit with near-perfect invisibility and protection against most scanning tech and infrared or thermal vision, all the way to a juggernaut suit the size of a car, with plating thick enough to ignore most modern-day weapons and strong enough to crush steel with its hands. My vehicles range from motorcycles with guns all the way to large space dreadnoughts covered in weapons strong enough to destroy the moon in one shot."

I almost laughed at the looks on all of their faces. Even Miss Militia looked shocked, despite the fact that she must have read all of this in my file already. "Of course, building all of these things requires a lot of material, and most of that material is incredibly expensive. So, while I _could_ build a death-ray that destroys a continent the size of Australia in one hit, it would cost hundreds of billions in resources and the power source would produce more energy than the entirety of the world's population used in the past ten years. Pros and cons, and all that."

Of course, if I could get my nanobots up and running, I could easily have them dig into the Earth's mantle or even launch them into space in order to get the resources I needed, but it's better to keep that a secret just in case. Like the fact that I hacked into the PRT database using my new Tinker abilities, what they don't know will let me hurt them.

Kinda surprising just how many leaks they've had though, not to mention the number of times there's been a connection from some warehouse or whatever. Protocol says that I should tell my superiors about that. Curiosity says that I should check it out personally. Queenie says I should check it out personally, with a big gun.

So, two-to-one in favor of checking it out myself.

Once Miss Militia recovered from the bombs I just dropped, she cleared her throat and started to lead me out of the room. "I'm sorry, Wards, but something has come up and War Machine needs to come with me. He can come by again tomorrow and meet the team."

Huh, guess Piggot screamed something in that earpiece of hers, cause the look she's giving me is _legendary_.

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 11, 2011}**

**{PRT ENE HEADQUARTERS, BROCKTON BAY}**

Oh yeah, she's definitely angry.

"And just when, exactly, were you going to inform us that you could create, and I quote, a 'death-ray that destroys a continent the size of Australia in one hit'?" the Director growled at me, Armsmaster standing next to her and staring at me as well.

"Well, I would've got around to it I guess, probably after you stopped holding my little brother hostage to get me to cooperate. Besides, I told the power testers everything I could do at the time. Not my fault Queenie keeps sending me blueprints whenever I have a new idea."

The Director took note of that, apparently, because her next question was about my shard. "Speaking of this… 'Queenie'… what all has it told you? You are the first known parahuman who can speak with the source of their powers, and we stand to learn quite a bit from it."

Huh, didn't realize I was so special. "Well, Queenie seems to be really into conflict. As in, she pushes me towards fighting or killing anything that bothers me. She's doing it right now actually, wants me to fight you for some reason. It almost seems like she's going through the motions, she wants conflict but doesn't really seem to know why or have any reason for it. Other than that, she seems somewhat annoyed that she's stuck with me but also really wants me to work with her towards fighting… something. She's a bit vague about things, most of what she says relies on conceptual understanding and not so much verbally explaining things."

"Are you saying that parahumans are actually pushed towards fighting by their powers?" Miss Militia asked.

"Well, I'm not entirely sure, but let's take a look at the Brockton Bay ones. On the side of the heroes you have things such as the woman with _all the guns_, the man who can control kinetic energy and give Newton's laws the middle finger, a girl that can turn to shadows or smoke or whatever and pretty much ignore defenses because of it, and of course _me_. For the villains, you have a man who can steal skills from other people, a guy who can teleport and basically clone himself which he uses to blow himself up repeatedly, a woman who can build vehicles that I'm pretty sure come straight from Mad Max, and the guy who can turn himself in to a massive rage dragon that can fight the biggest monsters we know of. So, yeah, I'd say that most if not all powers are based around combat."

The Director raised an eyebrow, "And Panacea? Her power is healing, and can't be used for combat other than knocking her opponents out. It also provides a view of the biology of whoever she's healing, so she can check if they're fully healed or suffering from a more esoteric disease."

Huh, good point. Queenie?

**[RECOGNITION] [KINSHIP] {QUEEN SHAPER}**

_Ah fuck my head! That hurt…_

Shaking my head to clear it, I answered her question, "Dunno about that, but Queenie calls Panacea's power Queen Shaper. Guess I shouldn't call her Queenie anymore, if there's more of them out there… anyway, I don't really know a lot about powers yet, but the names seem pretty literal. Queen Warfare builds stuff for war, Queen Shaper has to sculpt or change the shape of something. And since Panacea heals people and pets and stuff…"

Oh man that's not a happy look on her face.

"Biokinetic. Panacea is a biokinetic." The Director's face had turned stormy, and she was already dialing a number in on the phone she had sitting on her desk. "You're all dismissed. I have some calls to make."

That went well, all things considered.

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 12, 2011}**

**{PRT ENE HEADQUARTERS, BROCKTON BAY}**

I made my way into the Wards' area again around two in the morning. I had spent the time since Piggot dismissed me on Tinkering, and I had finished my first weapon. Sitting at four feet in length when fully extended, it had wires running up and down the barrel that were covered in triangular metal plates, with a wireframe wherever possible to cut down on weight. As it was, the thing weighed close to twenty pounds, and due to the recoil was close to impossible for a human to use. For some reason, however, I could lift the thing just fine, and the recoil was closer to a normal rifle than the shoulder-shattering force that it should have been.

The weapon was mostly gunmetal grey, with blinking red and green lights that gave the user information about the internal workings of the gun. For a normal human, it would require months of training and familiarity with the weapon to understand them, but for me it was as easy as looking at them. Probably some side effect of building the thing.

It had three different firing modes, each of which were radically different from each other. First, capsules could be loaded into a breach on the side of the gun, the contents of which would be shot out similar to a shotgun. I had made ten of them already, all of them loaded with various bits of sharpened metal from the Scrapyard. Probably illegal, but I'd take what I could get if I had to fight Lung or Purity. The secondary firing mode was a "simple" laser, which took the form of an attachment on the underside of the barrel. It took a fairly powerful battery I had created in order to work, and it could only make five shots per battery, but it could melt through metal and stone alike, let alone normal human flesh.

And finally, only added because I needed a debatably non-lethal option, the attachment on the left side of the barrel was an air-powered dart shooter. Similar in design to the PRT tranquilizers, it could take any dart up to a certain size and launch it at speeds close to supersonic. These darts could be filled with any liquid, and I had already made several filled with a powerful venom that could melt any biological material it touched.

Those needles were hidden away under tons of random scrap, where the PRT wouldn't find them. Always nice to have a last resort, and there's no way in hell those would get approved.

I had also set my nanobots to start making my armor. The coding required had taken a while, and in fact most of the time I spent in the Scrapyard was trying to get the program to do what I wanted it to. For now, the bots would work through the night on the right gauntlet of my armor, and after that I could check it over for any problems that might have resulted from me missing a bit of code or whatever.

Right now, however, I was _exhausted_. So, with an oversized gun in one hand and a wrist computer on my other arm, I collapsed on the couch in the middle of the main room, closing my eyes…

Then opened them again, as a thought occurred to me. "Hey, Queenie?" I whispered.

**[ACKNOWLEDGEMENT]**

"What do you know about the source of powers? Like, what created you?"

I waited for a bit, and when Queenie didn't respond I shrugged it off and closed my eyes again, until…

**[CREATOR] [PROGENITOR] [FATHER] [ENTITY] [WARRIOR]**

_**{ZION}**_

The sheer amount of information shoved into my brain knocked me unconscious so quickly, I didn't even have time to worry about the blood leaking from my eyes.

_**A/N:**_

_**And so, our MC learns about the Big Golden Boy (I call him BGB for short). Isn't it nice that Cauldron's whole reason for existence is about to be exposed to quite a few more people than they wanted? Quite convenient that Path To Victory doesn't **_**quite**_** work on him, isn't it?**_

_**Also, yes, communicating with shards physically harms him, because these things are so much more powerful than normal humans and their shard-speak sometimes uses concepts that humans can't quite grasp. Sure, 'conflict' is a pretty easy concept to understand, but 'bullshit magic space whale' definitely isn't.**_

_**Of course, to tell anyone about what he learned, he has to wake up first, and that **_**might**_** take a hot minute or three.**_

_**See you soon with the next chapter. This is AWDTB, signing off.**_


	5. INSERT: 4

_**A/N:**_

_**Welcome, one and all, to the newest chapter of DESTINATION: INSERT! A bit of forewarning, this chapter happens two days after the previous one. Canon has, so far, continued on in the background, so the bank robbery has happened (although Panacea wasn't there for reasons that will be explained in this chapter) and Bakuda is working on being the evil psychotic bitch we all know and love to hate.**_

_**With that bit of clarification out of the way, however, let's get right into this!**_

_**DISCLAIMER: Wow, look at all this money I don't have! It's almost like I'm not a good enough writer to have made Worm and Ward!**_

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 14, 2011}**

**{BROCKTON BAY GENERAL HOSPITAL, BROCKTON BAY}**

I raised my tentacles above my head as I slowly awoke-

My throat let out a low growl as my tail whipped to the side-

All eleven of my eyes opened at the same time as I-

My reintroduction to consciousness was a strange one. Instead of the groggy awakening I had when I was tranquilized, this time it almost felt like I was a different person, or even a different species. Shaking the strange thoughts away, I reached for my wrist computer to contact someone.

It took a moment to realize it had been removed, so I changed my plan and pressed the nurse call button instead. While I waited for someone to show up, I was having a heated debate with Queenie in my head.

_What's with all the weird memories?_

**[CYCLE] [HARVEST] [REPEAT]**

_They're… things that were harvested, like humans are going to be? The fuck do you mean we're all going to be 'harvested'?_

**[CYCLE] [IMPERATIVE] [DIRECTIVE]**

_It's your primary directive to give people powers and make said people use them, until this… Zion recalls all of you? Which would, of course, cause everyone to die quite horribly, before Zion and his partner wipe out the planet and every alternate of it?_

**[CONFIRMATION]**

_And they do this to… what? Get power, so that they can live forever? So that they can discover a way to stop the heat death of the universe? That's ridiculous. Hell, the amount of energy required to completely destroy several alternates of each planet would barely allow them to gain anything from it, it'd be like burning eight dollars just cause someone bet you ten that you wouldn't. There's got to be something more to it than just energy._

**[ANGER] [CYCLE] [IMPERATIVE] [DIRECTIVE]**

_Yes, I get that you've been programmed to do this one thing, but what I'm saying is that it's stupid! Hell, there's no way any of this is profitable in the long run anyway, all you'd accomplish is killing off hundreds of sentient species before you finally die, either when the universe does or when you run out of species to seed with powers. What happens then, when you run out of planets that support life?_

**[… CONFUSION] [ANGER] [CYCLE] [IMPER-]**

"Yes, I get it, the Cycle is important, whatever," I grumbled, deciding not to continue arguing with the deluded piece of crystalline computer code. Seriously, the only reason it had anything approaching the ability to think was because it was programmed to do so in order to regulate its 'host'.

And that's another thing. This whole 'Cycle' thing? Absolutely no way this wouldn't end badly for us. The most powerful and popular hero in the world being a genocidal space whale? I can just imagine the look on Armsmaster's face when I tell him that…

Actually, seeing that would almost make the whole 'pending eradication of the human species' thing worth it.

Speaking of the tin man, however, he just walked in the door, along with a nurse. "War Machine. It is… good, to see you awake. Is there anything you can tell us about why you fell unconscious?"

The nurse looked a bit annoyed, probably because he cut straight to the point before she could check on me, but we both ignored her. "Sir, I have bad news and worse news. I found out where powers come from, and–"

"I'm sure this is fascinating and all, but I need to check on the patient," the nurse cut in snappily. I waved her off before she could start, however.

"Look, lady, right now we have more important things to deal with than a bit of possible nerve damage. My power tells me I'm not going to die in the next few hours, which means I have enough time to talk before you check on me, alright? Armsmaster, sir, this is an _extremely_ important matter that should really be left between the two of us right now."

Now, normally I would be a bit more standoffish, but gaining in-depth knowledge of just how everything was going to die soon really takes the fun out of it. I needed _everyone's_ help, I couldn't be picky.

Armsmaster gestured for the nurse to leave, and she did, glaring all the while. When she was gone, he shut the door and turned back to me. "What do you have to report?"

"As I was saying before I was interrupted, I fell unconscious while talking to my power. I was curious, and asked where powers came from. The answer… was far more in-depth than I had expected, and my brain wasn't able to process the influx of information. During… however long I was passed out, I've been getting… visions, I guess would be the best term for it, from my brain converting the concepts to images that were easier to understand."

"While this is interesting, what does this have to do with the 'bad and worse news' you mentioned?" he gets right to the point. Normally it'd be rude but right now it was helpful, made it easier to focus my thoughts.

"Alright, well, this is going to blow a lot of minds and make a lot more very, _very_ worried. You'll probably want to record this actually," I waited for him to set up a camera before continuing.

"So… powers are made and distributed by Scion, actually named _Zion_, and sent out to anyone who has a chance of achieving mental instability in their life. When and if they achieve this instability, the power alters their Corona Pollentia and Gemma in order to allow an… interface, for the power to work through. While the power is altering the "power centers" of the brain, it also makes tweaks to brain chemistry in order to make the recipient of the power more likely to both use it and fight against others, so that the power can gain information and data about alternate uses and such.

"These tweaks are, most of the time, not very noticeable. For instance, if someone has the ability to create creatures like Nilbog does, then the tweaks will mess with empathy and disgust, making it easier for the person to rationalize turning people into monsters. Of course, as shards search for people who would be willing to use them in the first place, sometimes tweaks aren't needed whatsoever.

"The worst part about all of this, is that these powers are literally part of Scion. As in, the things that make powers work are literally pieces of Scion's body that were detached and reprogrammed to go through the motions and produce an effect whenever their host's mind tells them to. The Manton Effect? Complete bullshit, any and all limits placed on powers are artificial. Queenie is… broken, in a way, she doesn't seem to have been programmed like the others were.

"Anyway, once certain criteria are met, all of these shards are recalled back to Scion and his partner. This process is… very lethal to any current parahumans, and afterwards the two of them destroy any and all parallel versions of the planet. After that, everything starts getting fuzzy, but there's something about reproducing from the energy of the explosion or something.

"I don't think I need to tell you why this is capital-B _Bad_, but there is a silver lining: Scion's partner is either missing or dead. He doesn't know where she is, and luckily for us she was the brains of the operation. Oh, sure, he isn't an idiot, but his partner was the one to decide what powers to distribute and when to kill everyone. That means we have a chance to defeat him, and prevent literally every human in existence from being wiped out completely.

"So… what do we do now, sir?" I asked.

I had absolutely no idea how to deal with this. Oh, sure, I had all the information, or at least the important bits, but I was in no way the type of tactical genius we'd need to defeat a being with literally all the powers, especially one that literally specialized enough in fighting that its title was "The Warrior". So, all I could do was tell everyone what I knew, and pray that capital-G God was on our side, because the lowercase-g one wasn't.

Armsmaster simply stood there for a moment, before raising an eyebrow under his visor. "Well? I'm waiting."

… What?

"Uh, sir… I just explained…" suddenly something clicked. If shards are parts of Scion, and can affect the mind of their host, then that means… "Sir, we have a bigger issue than I thought. We need to see the Director, right now. Bring the recording as well, please."

The hero let out an annoyed scoff, but pulled out a wheelchair for me since I still couldn't quite walk properly. Once I was settled, we made our way outside, where a PRT van was waiting for us.

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 14, 2011}**

**{PRT ENE HEADQUARTERS, BROCKTON BAY}**

"War Machine, I have had an extremely trying day. If it isn't about the end of the damn world, I don't want to hear it right now," Piggot growled.

I dismissed my curiosity about just what had made the day trying for her, and got straight to the point. "Armsmaster, please show her the recording. Director, we have a much bigger problem than whatever you're currently dealing with."

She scowled, but I watched her expression slowly change as she watched the recording. On the way here, I had Armsmaster watch it again to confirm my hypothesis. True to my expectations, he forgot all the information the moment he heard about where shards come from, likely a failsafe to prevent the seeded species from making plans against the entities.

The moment that the recording finished, Piggot turned to glare at me. "Is this true?"

"To the best of my knowledge, yes. I think my shard wasn't actually meant to be released as early as it was, because I don't have the limitations that most Tinkers or parahumans do. Not to mention I can actually talk to my power. Judging by Armsmaster, I don't think anyone who got their powers from Scion will be able to remember anything we tell them about this issue. Look, Director, I know we don't see eye to eye, but right now this is bigger than the both of us.

"As soon as you dismiss me, I'm going to go to the Scrapyard, and I'm going to pull out all the stops. I'm going to let my nanobots go wild, and I'm going to create weapons of mass destruction that would get me thrown in the Birdcage or saddled with a Kill Order in a heartbeat, because even those will barely be able to help us. We need to get the Chief Director in on this, and tear out all the regulations, because if we don't we're all going to die."

"Absolutely not!" Piggot shouted, scowling, "You are going to stay in this room while I contact the Chief Director, and you are going to tell her everything you know about this 'Cycle'. Armsmaster, you're dismissed, report to Master/Stranger confinement until we can be sure that whatever is erasing your memories hasn't turned you into a timebomb."

My fellow Tinker clenched his teeth in annoyance but nodded and made his way out of the room. The moment he was gone, the Director gestured for me to sit down and pressed a button on her desk. A holographic display lit up, and the Chief Director's face appeared on the screen.

"Director Piggot. What do you need?"

"I have information on both the source of parahuman abilities, and on the end of the world." Well, she certainly got straight to the heart of the matter.

The Chief Director looked surprised, before turning to annoyance, "Director, this had better not be a joke, or I'll strip you of your position and have you brought up on charges so fast you won't have time to grab your dialysis machine."

Dialysis? Huh, I always thought she was just overweight, didn't realize she had a medical reason. Maybe I could… I shook my head to clear my thoughts and turned back to the conversation.

"As I told you earlier this week, the newest Ward of the East-Northeast division has the ability to supposedly speak to his power. Two days ago, he fell into a deep coma. He woke up today, and has informed me that, apparently, he asked his power where it came from, and the information overload knocked him unconscious. Upon awakening, he informed Armsmaster of the information he received, however Armsmaster has no memory of any information despite recording the event and watching said recording. I've already forwarded the video to you, along with a video of Armsmaster during War Machine's presentation of this information," Piggot said, gesturing towards me.

We both watched as the Chief Director looked over the information sent to her. Her expression slowly grew even stonier than before, and she turned to us once she finished. "War Machine. Do you understand the implications of this information you have revealed?"

A jolt of annoyance shot through me, but I pushed it down. "I have the memories of the dozens of users of Queen Warfare before me, and I've witnessed dozens of worlds ending around me. Trust me, Director, I know the implications far more than you do."

Chief Director Costa-Brown's eyebrow rose. "You have the memories of the previous users of your power? Is there anything there we can use against Scion?"

"Unfortunately not," I frowned, "because his companion always made sure to keep their actions hidden until the final push, so to speak. Most of the memories begin with a normal day and end with the sudden deaths of anyone with powers, and shortly after the world itself exploding. Hell, I only know about the world exploding because a few of the aliens were barely able to survive their shards being harvested and lived just long enough to see it."

"Has your power provided you with information on any abilities that could harm them?"

_Queenie?_

**[REFUSAL]**

… What?

"I… think I just got told to fuck off. She's never ignored a question before…"

The two women exchanged a glance, before Piggot snorted. "That's not worrying at all…"

"Either way," Costa-Brown took control again, "your power is a crucial well of information. I had planned to send an expert on powers to speak with you, but instead I'll be sending Alexandria to speak with you in person. Perhaps her Thinker power will be able to discover more."

That… didn't quite make sense. Sure, Alexandria was a Thinker, but surely there were better ones to draw from? Piggot seemed to share my sentiments, "What about the Think Tank, Chief Director?"

"The Think Tank is unable to get a read on War Machine, likely due to his power interfering with their own," she explained.

_Wait, I'm immune to Thinkers? Why?_

**[POSSESSION] [SMUGNESS]**

"… According to Queenie, I'm apparently 'hers'. She won't allow any other powers to gather information on me through her it seems, which basically results in a low-level Stranger power where most Thinkers just see me as a normal human."

Honestly, there was something _wrong_ about my power. Even with it being as broken and unrestricted as it was, it should still be limited to its purpose: Warfare. So why was it able to do so much else? Just because it could think for itself?

Costa-Brown's voice drew me out of my thoughts, and I turned to see the worried look on her face. "That is… problematic. Especially as it invalidates any precog abilities used in your general area, due to them being unable to account for your actions. Perhaps if you were relocated…"

Piggot immediately protested, but I cut them both off, glaring. "No way in hell. I'm not going to leave my little brother and move to some facility in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, it's not happening."

The Chief Director frowned, "I don't think you realize your position. You signed a contract to join the Wards, which includes following any orders you are given. Whether you like them or not."

"I'm also your only source of information on Scion and powers in general, or at least the most accessible. Pretty sure stopping the end of the world takes precedence over anything else, right?"

Piggot seemed torn between anger and amusement at my rebuke, while Costa-Brown just scowled. "Be that as it may, if your presence is actively working against our efforts then your usefulness may run out sooner rather than later. Do you understand that?"

**[ANGER] [POSSESSION] [SELFISHNESS] **

** [CONFLICT]**

"Oh, absolutely your highness. But let me tell you something: I have the memories of alien races that even George Lucas couldn't dream of. Do you really think none of them would have experience dealing with manipulation or coercion such as blackmail? The only, and I mean the _only_ leverage you have on me is my little brother. That Birdcage threat you gave me? No way in hell you'd throw me in there. I'd be dead within the hour, and then who would give you the info you need? Any physical threats? Go ahead, I have vivid memories of multiple equivalents of brains melting and bodies exploding from the inside. Mind control? Even if you had access to a Master that powerful, Queenie would rather kill me than let someone else play with her toy.

"So, the only thing left is my brother. You kill him and I'm going to create the most powerful death ray I can and shoot the PRT headquarters with it, and if you hurt him I'll do the same. Keep him safe, and close to me, and I'll do what you want. That's the only real choice you have here and we both know it. Now, maybe we can stop the dick measuring and get to the topic of _saving the fucking world_."

Piggot's face had grown stormier and stormier as I ranted, and the Chief Director had gone still. "… Very well. Your PRT-approved foster home will be ready in two days, and your brother will be there. In exchange, however, you _will_ tell us whenever you receive any additional information, and you will build anything we tell you to, _when_ we tell you to. If you do not comply fully with this agreement, your brother will be put in foster care far away from you and you will be placed in a maximum-security PRT prison for the rest of your life. _Do you understand_?"

Her voice wasn't _quite_ 'I'm gonna kill you', but it was certainly threatening enough that I bit down my instinctive retort. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good," she growled, and the hologram shut off as she ended the call.

Piggot and I exchanged a glance, before she glared and gestured for me to leave the room with a "We _will_ have words later."

I just nodded, walking out of the office and making a beeline to the Scrapyard.

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 14, 2011}**

**{PRT ENE HEADQUARTERS, BROCKTON BAY}**

The first thing I noticed when I walked into the Scrapyard was that most of the materials had been moved. The second thing I noticed was the same lab coat-wearing power tester that I saw during my first trip here, back before everything got weird.

Actually, being a parahuman was still pretty weird even back then, so maybe just before everything went to shit.

"Hey there kiddo! Looking to do some Tinkering?"

… I swear to all that's holy, I will _kill_ this asshole if he doesn't stop talking. "Yes, actually. Now where the hell is my stuff?"

He had the audacity to chuckle, "You know, it's not actually _your_ 'stuff', Kyle. The PRT supplies the materials in this room for power testing, and since your testing has been moved back for a while, there's no reason to keep it stocked. I'm sure you could ask Armsmaster about using his workshop though, he might not even hit you with his halberd."

**[CONFLICT]**

… _Alright, he asked for it._

My response came in the form of a hard right cross, followed by a left jab and an uppercut. Surprisingly, the man had some combat training, but my own mind had the memories of several humanoid species, some of those similar enough to human that their martial arts were translatable to human ones. So, I practically _flowed_ around his counterattacks and blocks using memories from the _Liqua_, I punched with the aggressive techniques of the _Kithar_, and grappled with the forms of the _Serpi_.

Against most opponents, I wouldn't have stood much of a chance, but against an out-of-shape beanpole of a scientist my skill was more than enough. Barely a dozen moves later and I had him on the ground, one arm twisted painfully behind his back and the other held out to the side by my other hand. Before he could do anything to escape, my knee hit the back of his head hard enough to rattle his brain and knock him unconscious.

I stepped away from the man, raising my fist as I-

_What the fuck am I doing?!_

**[ANNOYANCE] [CONFLICT]**

… Oh god. "You can fucking Master me?!"

**[SMUGNESS] [CONFIRMATION]**

** [CONFLICT] [CONFLICT] [CONFLICT] [CONF-]**

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I roared, placing both hands over my ears as I slumped to the floor.

Fuck, how the hell am I supposed to stop the end of the world, when I can't even trust my own thoughts and instincts? Not only do I have the memories of several aliens in my head, but Queenie can apparently fuck with whatever she wants too.

Shit, I should've realized this already. I just watched Armsmaster's memories get fucked with, and he's got the same damn thing in his head that I do. Hell, even the fact that I have all these new memories but I still see myself as human should've clued me in!

Calm down, Kyle, calm down. Existential crisis later, doomsday preparations now. They've moved most of the stuff in the Scrapyard, but my nanobots are still in range of my transmitter. So, if I just do this, and tweak that a bit, maybe change that… done.

Ten of my twenty nanobots began to gather materials to create more of themselves, while the other ten drilled through walls and made their way out into the city outside. They would follow their pre-programmed instructions until they either returned to my range or were destroyed, so I wasn't too worried about them doing anything dangerous.

Right now, however, they were headed out to look for the work of any Tinkers. If they found it, they would mark down the coordinates and head straight back to the PRT building, where they would wait for further instructions. It wasn't a perfect system, but they were relatively cheap and expendable, and were barely the size of a common housefly, so they would be difficult to detect with the naked eye.

While my nanobots set off to do their thing, I propped the scientist up against the wall and made my way into the Scrapyard. Ignoring my nanobots gathering material, I started to pull apart anything I could get my hands on, working on the blueprint that Queenie had provided. Most would have fallen into the trap of trying to outgun Scion, trying to find a weapon that could harm him. While possible, the amount of resources and energy it would take would be far more than any one country could provide, and there was no way the entire world would be able to agree on something without trying to sabotage it or use it for themselves afterwards.

So, instead of offense, I started working on defense.

A large dome shield, projected from a relatively small generator and able to protect from most heavy artillery and some mid-level powers. Made of thousands of tiny overlapping hexagonal plates, the shield would be able to disperse impacts across multiple plates in order to diminish the amount of power the attack had. It wasn't perfect, and was made more for heavy vehicles than infantry use, but luckily my power offered a way around that.

See, my power was a strange one for Tinkers. Most of them started out with barely functional prototypes, and slowly made their way up to what everyone thinks of as Tinkertech nowadays. Mine didn't work that way; instead, Queenie just gave me blueprints for what I wanted. I couldn't change them without sacrificing important parts, but all of them were… not quite _modular_, but easily modified and specialized. For instance, all of my weapons came with tactical rails, which could hold attachments ranging from simple laser sights and telescopic scopes all the way to underbarrel plasma grenade launchers and vibrating chainsaw blades. All of my vehicles had attachment points that could fit any weapon of a certain size, with different attachment points for different sized weapons, and the internals could be changed as needed. Want more power instead of storage? Remove a cargo compartment and slot in an auxiliary generator. More defense instead of offense? Take off a few weapons and slot in shield projectors in their place.

In fact, those shield projectors were what I was modifying right now. They were meant to be mounted on a vehicle and draw from that vehicle's generators, but luckily for me they each had their own battery and could be charged with any power source that generated electricity. It wouldn't be able to take as much punishment as a vehicle-mounted one, but along with the high-powered solar panel it should be able to protect a group of people long enough for them to regroup and recover.

Any military officer would sell their own mother to get access to this, but that wasn't the reason I was making it. It would be useful against Scion, though not to a large extent, but the main benefit was that it could be mass produced by my nanobots, and easily used by anyone with even a passing familiarity with it.

Someone like a BBPD police officer, or a PRT trooper, perhaps.

And so, with a dark chuckle at the thought of the looks on the faces of villains once they saw this tech, I got to work.

**{EARTH BET}**

**{APRIL 15, 2011}**

**{PRT ENE HEADQUARTERS, BROCKTON BAY}**

I raised my head off the table in front of me, blearily rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I didn't remember falling asleep, but seeing as how it's the middle of the next day I probably passed out sometime in the early morning.

Thankfully, it seems I was able to finish the shield projector before I fell asleep, so it shouldn't be much trouble to tweak it a bit and send it for approval. Of course, I'd be keeping a copy for myself no matter what the PRT said about it, but it would be nice to get the go-ahead before I started cranking these out for the good guys. Hell, maybe I'd even make an IFF system so it would only work for approved personnel.

I caught sight of my nanobots out of the corner of my eye, and to my surprise the ten I had sent outside last night were back. Curious, I checked the coordinate data they had brought back with them. A warehouse near the docks, another warehouse in E88 territory, yet another warehouse in what could charitably be called Merchant 'territory', a few random homes and two hospitals.

Wait, what were those last two-

A series of explosions dragging me kicking and screaming from my thoughts, and I had just enough time to look up and catch sight of a strange cylinder before my vision went _white_. Ears ringing and effectively blind, I stumbled back as fast as I could, grabbing what I thought was my shield generator with one hand and a heavy tool with my other.

My back hit the wall, and alien memories kicked in, analyzing the situation. I could use my echolocation to- no, no,_ human_! Alright, alright, so there's only one entrance into this room, and I'm completely blind and disoriented. I haven't been killed yet, so either my assailant is playing with me or he doesn't want me dead. Best I can tell, that was a standard-issue military flashbang, nothing too advanced or Tinkertech, so it could be literally anyone attacking me at this point.

Fuck.

**[ANGER] [POSSESSION] [INFORMATION]**

** {DUPLICATIVE TELEPORTATION}**

… _Who?_

_**A/N:**_

_**Hi, I'm back! Sorry, these last couple of weeks have been… trying for me. On the bright side, welcome to the fun part of the plot! I'm sure you've figured out that this is Lung's breakout by Oni Lee, and the start of Bakuda's bombing spree. All that Tinkertech the bots found? It's Bakuda's planted explosives.**_

_** Next chapter will deal with the panicked combat of Oni Lee's attack, and after that we'll check up on Taylor for a bit. 20k words and we haven't even heard from the Queen of Escalation herself, eh? Also, those alien memories of Kyle's will be a **_**big**_**thing, it's not just a one-off mention. They also screw with his own thoughts, leaking in and turning the intended human action into something that the human body can't actually do.**_

_** Just imagine the migraines Tattletale will get trying to figure him out though!**_

_** Anyway, not a lot else to say right now, other than please review. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, especially since this story is mostly a stream-of-thought thing. I have a few plotpoints I'm going to hit, but a lot of it is made up as I go along just to keep myself writing and putting stuff out there. So, any help is appreciated, even if I don't have a lot of time to proofread or edit chapters right now.**_

_** With all that said, this is AWDTB, signing off.**_


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